Karnataka’s Congress crossroads: A leadership test for a weakened high command

Murmurs of a power struggle within the Karnataka government have grown louder. The Congress leadership in Delhi is reportedly weighing the rival claims of Chief Minister Siddaramaiah, who wants to continue in the role, and Deputy Chief Minister D K Shivakumar, who seeks to replace him.

Much of it remains in the realm of speculation, as the intensity of the tussle has not fully played out in public. Congress president Mallikarjun Kharge’s only hint of acknowledging the crisis is his remark that the high command will take a call. 

Such clashing ambitions between two strong state leaders is not unusual for a national party with the Congress’s long history. Yet it is a delicate moment for the high command as it navigates the regional dynamics of a crisis in a big state. With its diminished presence in power politics at the Centre, the stakes are high for the party to maintain a smooth power balance in Bengaluru.

Even though the present context has introduced new dynamics in the relationship between the state unit and the high command, the Congress’s institutional memory of dealing with questions of leadership structure remains relevant. Karnataka sits at the heart of a larger conversation about how the Congress manages leadership in its few remaining state governments.

The party will be alert to the fact that any misstep in handling leadership expectations could unsettle a government it cannot afford to risk. However, the crisis in Karnataka also reflects a deeper shift in the party’s internal dynamics – changes accumulated over decades.

The Rajasthan example

In the shorter arc of memory, the Rajasthan example looms large, almost as an illustration of how the Congress narrowly avoided burning its fingers after misreading the regional script. In 2020, the confrontation between Chief Minister Ashok Gehlot and Deputy Chief Minister Sachin Pilot triggered a leadership crisis. It resurfaced in 2022, when tensions between the two camps reached a crucial point. The facts were clear: Pilot wanted a greater role, possibly the chief ministership; Gehlot resisted. The high command attempted to mediate, appeal for unity, and broker peace. The crisis exposed something larger than a clash of personalities: it revealed the limits of central authority within a party that no longer enjoyed the national dominance it once wielded.

Gehlot’s position reflected this new reality. He had built deep organisational networks and commanded strong loyalty within the legislative party. As chief minister, he also had influence over the bureaucracy. Any attempt to dislodge him risked destabilising the government. Pilot, while influential, did not command a comparable bloc. When the conflict reached Delhi, the central leadership lacked the strength to enforce a unilateral settlement. It relied instead on persuasion and reconciliation. More than caution, it was also an acknowledgement of reduced leverage.

This institutional memory is relevant as the Congress deals with Karnataka. However, the situations are not identical. Rajasthan had one dominant leader and one challenger. Karnataka has two leaders with different kinds of strengths. Siddaramaiah has a strong mass base and popular legitimacy; Shivakumar controls organisational machinery and internal networks. Their partnership was possible because of this balance. But the Rajasthan episode still informs the party’s understanding of present constraints. It demonstrated that even when the high command speaks with formal authority, it cannot act as it once did. It must weigh the political foundations each leader brings, consider the risks of instability, and recognise that internal negotiation – not central command – ultimately shapes outcomes. Moreover, the status quoist leverage of incumbency works in Siddaramaiah’s favour as well.

These recent episodes can confine analysis to case-specific equations. But in the larger historical context, they signal the shifting nature of the Congress high command’s relationship with state leadership. Some political scientists describe this evolution as a shift from centralised control to “negotiated authority”. 

High command could earlier enforce decisions

In the era of Congress dominance, the high command could enforce decisions because it had the organisational strength and territorial reach to back them. As the party weakened, its capacity to impose decisions declined. State units gained autonomy. Leadership decisions increasingly became products of bargaining rather than direction.

Another way of understanding this shift is through the lens of “deinstitutionalisation.” Commentators note that the Congress once had established routines for leadership transitions – seniority norms, organisational consensus, and the moral authority of the central leadership. Over time, these routines eroded. The party came to rely more on informal understandings, personal networks, and ad-hoc solutions. Such arrangements may offer temporary stability, but they lack clarity and create friction when ambitions rise, as seen in Karnataka today.

Scholars studying party organisation also invoke the idea of organisational institutionalism. When formal mechanisms weaken, informal norms fill the vacuum. However, these norms are fragile when political stakes are high. The reported understanding in Karnataka gave both leaders reasons to believe they had a claim. As the mid-point of the term approached, these expectations became apparent, shaping the behaviour of supporters. Without a clear formal process, the high command must now navigate high expectations on both sides.

These frameworks lead naturally to the broader historical arc. In the 1960s, political scientists famously described the “Congress system,” in which the party functioned as a dominant national institution, bringing diverse social groups under a single umbrella and managing conflicts through central arbitration. The high command could intervene in state politics because it had the legitimacy and strength to do so. This model weakened as India’s political landscape fragmented, regional parties rose, and the Congress lost states. 

The centre no longer commanded its earlier authority. Internal cohesion increasingly depended on negotiation rather than command. The older model survives in rhetoric, but its substance has thinned.

Why this moment is complex

Returning to Karnataka, this history helps explain why the current moment feels complex. As much as it is about the ambitions of two leaders, it is also about a party adjusting to structural transformation. The high command still carries symbolic authority, but it lacks the force it once wielded. It cannot dictate outcomes. It must balance two influential leaders essential to its prospects, preserve government stability, and project unity at a time of limited national strength.

This is why Karnataka is a test. It will show whether Congress can manage leadership expectations in its most important state and whether it has learned from recent experiences. Rajasthan taught the party that ignoring local power balances can deepen factionalism and that informal arrangements require careful handling when ambitions rise. Karnataka has added another dimension: the party must manage expectations without letting the government lose direction.

The wider lesson is institutional. The party must deal with strong regional power centres, negotiate rather than dictate, and develop more precise mechanisms for leadership transitions that reflect the new balance between Centre and states. It is a moment of decision and of reflection. It shows how much the party’s institutional reflexes have adapted to the regional play of power. In this recalibrated environment, the high command must still find a way to hold its authority while keeping a firm grip on the reins of power in Bengaluru.

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